


Home, Hearth, Heart

by SailorFish



Series: A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Trollmarket [3]
Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Post-Canon, Recovery, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, learning to cope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-23 18:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14939969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorFish/pseuds/SailorFish
Summary: Before they left, Strickler had given him one last bit of advice.Watch out for that spark inside you, Young Atlas. Trolls are… we do not come to kindness naturally. I still don't understand exactly how Merlin's concoction worked, but just in case — promise me you’ll breathe before you move.--A series of post-S03 drabbles about Jim learning to cope with everything that's happened to him. As expected, some days are better than others.





	Home, Hearth, Heart

1.

Before they left, Strickler had given him one last bit of advice.

 _Watch out for that spark inside you, Young Atlas. Trolls are… we do not come to kindness naturally. I still don't understand exactly how Merlin's concoction worked, but just in case_ — _promise me you’ll breathe before you move._

Of course Jim had promised. But at the time, he’d sort of thought that was just Strickler being his usual cynical, distrustful self. He hadn't really gotten it before, but Strickler had a _lot_ of hang-ups about trolls.

(Jim’s new body noticed so much more now. Not just like being able to see in the dark, though that was admittedly super cool. But more the fact that Strickler’s ears twitched downward when he spoke to Jim, or that his leg muscles tensed whenever AAARRRGGHH!!! was in the room. Even if he’d seen it, he'd never thought it important before. And now, suddenly, it was. It was like being able to peer inside trolls’ brains. Kinda cool, but also kinda creepy.)

Within several weeks on the road, Jim realised Strickler wasn’t just being paranoid.

He’d been their Trollhunter for a while now, but he hadn't really been submerged in their culture before. And from the example of Blinky and AAARRRGGHH!!!, he knew that trolls probably outgrew it eventually. But for young trolls — and for trolls, anything under 500 years old was young — life seemed to be a constant series of challenges, jostling, and attempts to outdo each other. It wasn’t anything highly malicious. More like… suddenly being dropped into a society of Steves (pre-Creepslayerz), where everybody expected you to be the top Steve around, and was genuinely bewildered when you didn’t want to Steve it up.

Worst of all, his new half-troll body really, _really_ wanted him to go full Steve.

Jim had finally figured out how bad it was when one of the youngsters (236-year-old Ernax) in the group he’d been walking with called out a taunt to Nomura, fifty paces in front of them. He’d seen her shoulders tighten up imperceptibly: a solid hit. The others around them had sniggered. And Jim’s shameful, terrifying first instinct had been to _press the advantage_.

He’d manage to breathe, he’d managed to tamp it down, he’d managed to bark out, “Shut up, Ernie!” and stalk off to catch up with Nomura instead. And Nomura had shot him a small smile but hadn’t seem all that fazed otherwise. Changelings were still trolls too. She’d probably grown up with just this kind of jostling — or worse, in the Darklands. (Ernax was definitely gonna get something scalding poured on him later; Changelings had long memories and unlike most other trolls could Do Subtlety.)

But it had still felt like he’d lost.

Was it possible to relearn kindness? Was it possible to drill the instincts of kindness into his half-troll body like he’d drilled the instincts of war into his human one? He’d never had to think about it before. Now, he was afraid each moment would be a struggle.

_Promise me you’ll breathe before you move._

Jim breathed.

If it was a struggle, then dammit, he’d struggle through it each time.

 

2.

So, it turned out the worst part about moving to the new place was… the new place.

Not “the new place” as in the new Trollmarket (which was currently unoriginally named New Trollmarket). The Heartstone Merlin had found was much more isolated: deep into one of the many nature parks scattered around Northern New Jersey, under a place called Tranquility Ridge. It definitely fit the name. The nearest town was a good two hours hike away; everything around them was ancient forest and even older and, yes, _tranquil_ mountains.

Jim had never considered himself an outdoor guy, but with the trees as thick as they were and the Heartstone as isolated as it was, he quickly realised one simple thing. He could actually _go outside during the day._ Not at noon, of course. But in the early mornings and evenings — before the sun really got going and before the occasional hiker could reach their area.

The day they'd arrived, Claire had immediately trekked back to West Milford and bought a huge backpack for her “super tall boyfriend, like a surprise”. When things settled down, they planned to hike further North, see how far they could go before they ran out of trees…

So no, it wasn't “the new place” as in New Trollmarket.

No, it was “the new place” as in…

As in…

As in…

Oh God, as in that the trolls didn’t really get the idea of human teenage relationships and now he and Claire were gonna be _moving in together!!_

Jim stared in dismay at the brand new house they were supposed to be moving into today. How had he agreed to this?! But honestly, it hadn’t really sunk in until he actually saw it. Trolls, it turned out, were remarkably quick at building stuff. They’d only gotten to Heartstone a few weeks ago and here it stood already: a simple, light brown, cozy-looking house.

That he and Claire were supposed to be moving into together.

His palms started to sweat.

Of course he’d known, theoretically, that this was coming. Jim was still recovering from his injuries so he wasn’t allowed to do much heavy lifting, but, like, he hadn’t been kept in the dark about construction and living plans. It wouldn’t even be the first time they slept under the same roof: they’d been sharing a tent the whole time ‘till now. But a tent was, by its very nature, an _impermanent_ sort of situation.

A house really, really wasn’t.

And so Jim stood on the porch, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, waiting for Claire and just plain too nervous to go in by himself.

Oh God. What if there was only one bedroom?

Before he could _properly_ freak out, his thoughts were interrupted by a loud cackle.

“So!” said NotEnrique, strolling up. He hopped onto the porch and leered up at Jim. “You waiting to carry the bride across the threshold like a proper gentleman, yeah?”

Was that something people did?!

NotEnrique plowed on before Jim could stammer a reply.

“Now I know for you humans moving in together is just a thing you do. But you gotta understand, for us trolls, it's a lot more than that. A new home is a new _family_.”

“It is?” Jim squea — well, he didn't _squea_ — who was he kidding, he totally squeaked.

“Now it don't have to be a romantic-type family — I got no idea what Galadrigal and the general were up to and frankly I don't care either way. But what I'm getting at…” The Changeling fixed Jim with a ferocious glare. “Claire's my sister, yeah? I might be small and you might be the Trollhunter, but she's my _sister_. And being close to the ground makes Rule 3 just that much easier to go for. You remember that and we ain't gonna have any problems.”

Of all the people Jim had expected to get the Shovel Talk from — Claire’s dad, Claire’s mom, a couple of Claire’s rowdier cousins, Claire’s abuelas, even Enrique maybe, twenty years down the line — NotEnrique wasn’t on the list. It was ( _encroaching, wrong_ , _how dare the little_ — _!!_ snarled his instincts) actually kinda sweet.

“I will,” said Jim.

“Good.” The changeling’s serious expression melted away and he grinned. “Aww kid, you look so serious! It was just something I felt I had to say. I know you'll take good care of her. Plus she'll kick your arse herself if you don't. Here.” He pulled a small packet out of somewhere and tossed it at Jim. “Have fun, stay safe, eksetera.”

With that, he hopped off the porch and continued on his way.

Jim looked down at NotEnrique’s gift.

Grghhhgh.

His brain melted.

It was a box of _condoms_.

Of course Jim had imagined that one day he and Claire would… That maybe after prom or something they’d go up to the hill where they’d danced the night away and… That they would… Look, he was a normal teenage boy, alright?

Since his transformation, he hadn’t dared to think about it.

They hadn’t even really made out since then. For a while he was still really injured, and then there were always so many trolls around, and now… And now he was scared. He didn’t exactly look like the kind of guy normal teenage girls fantasised about. (Jim really should have held out for a hidden world of _vampires_ underneath his feet.) She still liked him, he knew that, but… how would the rest even work? Did Claire even want the rest anymore?

And of course, just as he _was_ thinking about it, he heard a very familiar, “Hey Jim!”

Jim thrust the condoms behind his back. Claire was jogging down the street from the direction NotEnrique had gone to. She was smiling broadly but there was a little crinkle between her eyes.

“Hey Claire! Welcome to our _casa nueva!_ ”

Shit, not the nervous Spanish again.

“Oh, it looks perfect!” she said, coming up to him and admiring the house. She sounded a little out of breath, as though she's been sprinting and had just slowed down. “I just ran into NotEnrique and he told me you were already waiting on the porch. Have you gone inside yet?”

Jim shook his head. “I was waiting for you.”

“Aw, that’s really…” she trailed off. “Why’re you holding your arm behind your back like that?”

“Uh, no reason,” Jim began, but her eyes had gone very large and her face was beginning to heat up.

“Wait, did NotEnrique actually give you,” he was in good company; her voice squeaked too. “Condoms?”

Oh God. He let his arm drop back down at his side.

“Uh, yeah, he, uh. Yeah.”

“Oh my _God!!_ I thought he was kidding! That little..!”

He’d never seen her face so red before. Jim’s eyes darted away. NotEnrique sure had forced the issue in the most direct way possible. It suddenly felt like a moment of truth. If she flinched away from him, if she said, _No offense, but gross!_ what would he do? What _could_ he do, except accept it?

Claire took a very deep breath, calming herself, and moved a little closer to him. She took his free hand — so much bigger than hers, now.

“Look, Jim…” she said softly. “Could we maybe… That is, I think we should take things slow. Do you think that’d be alright?”

She didn’t look grossed out; she didn’t look like she was lying to make him feel better. She just looked a bit nervous. She wasn’t trying to jump his bones, but to be fair that would only have freaked him out. Honestly, the fact that Claire still wanted to take things _anywhere_ … was a relief. Jim screwed his eyes shut for a moment and curled his hand tighter around hers.

“Slow, yeah. Slow sounds good.”

Claire sighed in relief. Then the small smile on her face turned into a sly grin and she stepped closer to him.

“Besides, we haven’t even re-figured out how kissing works yet. Luuuckily I’ve given myself the afternoon off…”

Well, at least the blush on Jim’s half-troll face was harder to see than the one on hers. They went inside their new home together.

(And there _were_ two bedrooms, thank you very much.)

 

3.

This was the longest Jim and Toby had gone without speaking to each other since they were eight and Toby’s nana had sent Toby to stay with his uncles in Nevada for the summer.

Not that they didn’t speak at all — if Claire did the dialling bit for him, he could talk to everyone back home just fine.

But it felt weird because A) it was Claire’s phone and B) well, who still called each other in 2018? Calling because of an emergency, sure. Calling an older person like his mom, sure. But calling his best friend and just catching up and hanging out over the phone… With Toby, when they wanted to hang out he’d always either gone over next door or texted.

He could hear it in Toby’s voice too, that note of desperation in, “Soooo, what were you up to today?” Not because he didn’t care about the answer, but because _calling_ each other about it was… It was just plain weird!

And whatever, when he managed to voice his unease to his mom, she’d teased him for being the typical Gen Z. Jim needed a phone. One big enough for his new, huge, still clumsy troll hands.

His mom, laughing, had suggested an old person’s phone like she saw at the hospital sometimes, with huge buttons.

Strickler, though just as amused when his mom had put Jim on loudspeaker, had more sensibly suggested a tablet.

And so now Jim lay on his new bed in New Trollmarket (in New Jersey), holding a new iPad. He gingerly typed his password into Facebook messenger. Strickler was right: the keyboard, which had been so awkward when he’d borrowed Toby’s Galaxy Tab before, was now _exactly_ the perfect size. He should get one for Blinky for Christmas, pre-loaded with the whole Project Gutenberg library.

He clicked on Toby’s name. But before he could start typing, the notifications started going off.

 _Hey Jimbo!!!_  
_Omg did you finaly get the tablet to work?_  
_Aaaah, how cool is this!! :D :D_  
_Also while you were away me and Aaaaargh!! Totally started getting into jpop……… idek lol_  
_How’re things with you?_ _  
You gotta send me all the pics!! Can you use Snapchat on an iPad? Claire mainly sends pics of trees >:(_

A knot in his stomach Jim hadn’t even realised he had unraveled. He grinned down at the tablet goofily, and settled in more comfortably to write back.

 

4.

On his first visit home his mom found him in the kitchen, braced against the kitchen counter, hands flat, staring down at the bowl of salsa verde in front of him like it held all his life's problems. Which, in some sense, it did.

“Honey?” she said. “What’s the matter? It smells delicious.”

“Yeah, it does.”

Jim couldn’t keep the note of dull frustration from his voice.

“I’m sure it tastes delicious too,” his mom added carefully. “Is it for Claire? Want me to try it?”

“No! I mean, yes — I mean, no — I mean… I don’t know. I just… I really miss cooking, Mom.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Like, _proper_ cooking.”

He found he couldn’t look up; he didn’t want to meet his mom’s eyes. If he just concentrated on the salsa, it was easier to speak. He’d been thinking about it for a while now, but he hadn’t said it all out loud before. He didn’t mean to say it out loud now. It was just spilling out of him.

“I’m… not really cooking anymore. Before, if I did follow a recipe, I could still add more or add less depending on what _I_ thought tasted good. But now,” his hands curled into fists. “I can recreate old stuff, I can recreate recipes, but I can’t make something _new_. This salsa… I know it’ll be good: I followed the recipe exactly. But would it be better with a little less cilantro? Would habaneros work better than serranos? I can guess, but I don’t _know_.”

It was embarrassing how his voice cracked on the last word. It was just _cooking_. Most people considered it just a chore, right? Most people wouldn’t mind never cooking again, as long as the alternative wasn’t too expensive, right? That was the whole point of fast food.

Jim didn’t even mind the not-eating-human-food part anymore, not that much. Not compared to the cooking.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling away from the counter. He rubbed his eyes roughly. “I know I’m being kinda — ”

“Oh Jim,” said his mom.

Her voice sounded very watery. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Honey, we’ll figure it out. I promise. I think I remember a piece on NPR about — ”

“ _No!_ ”

It burst out of him, more a harsh bark than a human yelp. He struggled back against the armour; it sensed his panic and wanted to clang shut on him, he could feel it.

_Breathe._

Jim breathed. He finally let his gaze dart, wide-eyed, to his mom’s face. She hadn’t flinched away, she hadn’t moved her hand from his arm. Her hand would have been hurt if his armour had manifested. She had tear streaks down her face. Shit. He hated making her cry.

“God, Mom. I’m sorry,” Jim said; his voice was shaking. “I didn’t mean to shout. It’s just — I know you’re doing everything you can to help me. You and Strickler and everyone else. Like with the school stuff, you know I’m super excited and — and grateful. But there’s always gonna be some new problems to fix, and there’s just some problems that you _can’t_ fix.”

“But we can try, right?” his mom said.

His mom was a person who fixed stuff. That’s what she did for a living and she was damn good at it and he was so very proud of her for it. But…

“Some stuff stays broken, Mom,” said Jim. “And I… I need to know that… Look, even if we fix this problem, and the next, there's always gonna be some problem that you can't… That I'm not…”

 _It's like with Dad_ , he didn't say because he really did hate making her cry. _Some stuff get fixed, some stuff get better, and some stuff stays broken. And you're my mom and I need you to accept that because if you don't accept it I don't know if I can…_

Maybe she didn’t need him to say it. His mom was a person who fixed stuff, but she was also his _mom_. She pulled him down and hugged him tight, nevermind the size difference.

“You’re gonna be alright, kiddo,” she said softly, firmly into his hair. “If we can figure it out, we’ll figure it out; if we can’t figure it out, we can’t figure it out. It’ll be alright either way, Jim, I promise. Don’t ever, ever, _ever_ think you’re something we need to _fix_.”

Jim had saved the world multiple times and watched friends die; he really shouldn’t be needing reassurance over something like this.

Jim was only sixteen.

He hugged his mom back just as tightly and cried into her shoulder.

(The salsa, Claire later told him, was perfect as was.)

 

5. 

“Okay, Blinky,” said Jim as he walked into Blinkie’s new library, smiling wide. “I am officially recovered and ready for my next lesson!”

Blinky looked up from the book he’d been pouring over and, well, blinked.

“Your new lesson, Master Jim? On what?”

“On… being the Trollhunter? I mean, not right now if you’re busy, but in general?”

The six-eyed troll put his book down carefully and leaned back in his chair. His gaze swept Jim from head to toe. Jim had decided to put on his armour for the meeting — he had sort of fallen out of the habit of wearing it and he wanted Blinky to know he was ready to take his training seriously again.

Blinky chuckled lightly and said, “Oh Master Jim, I doubt there remains anything about fighting that I have left to teach you! You’ve defeated both Gunmar the Vicious _and_ the Mother of Monsters.”

“But then…” Jim deflated slightly. He let the armour vanish. “What else am I supposed to do? What does a Trollhunter do in peace times anyway?”

“Well,” said Blinky slowly. “Traditionally, the main role a Trollhunter plays would be as a _Mägluur_ — I suppose you’d call it a ‘conciliator’ or ‘peacekeeper’.”

“Uh, like a mediator?”

“Exactly! My own responsibilities, like Vendel’s before me, are to New Trollmarket. Similarly, Wumpa’s main responsibility must always be to the Qugawumps and Stricklander’s,” he added with a hint of reluctance, “to his Changeling brethren. A Trollhunter’s duty of care, however, spreads to _all_ trolls. Thus, he or she is the perfect person to settle disputes and to stand up for any troll who feels wronged and marginalised, whether through diplomatic arrangements or through trial by combat.”

Jim, who was solemnly (and very worriedly) nodding along to all this, stopped.

“Wait. Trial by combat?”

His mentor laughed again.

“This is not some boring desk job, if that’s what you’re afraid of!” Then his grin faded and he added in a solemn voice. “You do not have to act as _Mägluur_ if you do not wish it, Master Jim. The debt of gratitude that all trollkind owes you for what you have done will never be repaid. Forcing you to do any more deeds for us would be ludicrous.”

Okay. Right.

Okay.

Jim swallowed hard.

So looking on the bright side, there was at least one part of this new job that he could definitely do! That was a lot more than most teenagers could say about _their_ first promotion to manager, right? Trial by combat, _check_.

Everything else though…

Could he really act as a mediator between trolls? His plans for the future, after college, had been vague, but they’d never included… politics? Was that the closest human equivalent? And what of his troll body’s terrible instincts towards violence? What if he never learned to control them properly? What kind of mediator would that make him?

On the other hand… it would feel so good to at least _try_. Train for something other than killing. Find out more about his new community. (And he remembered Strickler’s excitement in the vision Unkar had shown him: a human Trollhunter, or at least someone with a human’s way of looking at things, could change _everything_.)

“So, if I do decide to become the, uh, _Megluhr…_ ” said Jim cautiously. “Where would I start?”

A suppressed, feverish excitement blossomed in Blinky’s face. It was the kind of excitement Jim knew very well, one he’d genuinely missed. It usually came right before all the toughest, _funnest_ challenges he’d ever faced. He felt his own mouth pull up in a grin the exact mirror of Blinky's. A few more eyes and arms and they really could be related.

“To act as our _Mägluur_ ,” said Blinky and closed his book with a decisive snap. “You’d start by improving your Trollish.”

Jim groaned. Then he go to work.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Several notes:  
> \- Grant Achatz is a chef who lost his sense of taste because he had tongue cancer; he learned to create new recipes via sense of smell. So in case anyone was wondering, no worries, Jim can overcome this particular problem. But.. that isn't the point.  
> \- OK, the bit that made me feel _really_ old and out-of-touch was realising I had no idea if 16-year-old Jim would use FB, and if he didn't, what app he'd use instead. :') Sorry everyone, I'm a European Millennial, we just use WhatsApp.


End file.
